The Seafarer
by marinoa
Summary: Arthur Kirkland - an infamous pirate Captain, a legend, a terror of the seven seas. Surely there is no way that Alfred and Matthew's granduncle might have known him… or is there? Gather up, kids, uncle Francis has a story to tell! AU.


_Author's note: _Ahoy! Let me present you a little pirate story~ This will be a three-chaptered fic. I haven't yet written the second and the third parts, but they are wholly planned already, and I'm too anxious to publish this to finish them first, sorry about that. And, I shall warn you beforehand: this _is_ a pirate story, which means that eventually someone's gotta die. Nothing that bad, however, so don't worry too much. Anyway, before moving on to the story, here are some character explanations to avoid confusion:

_Marianne – Francis' little sister_

_Belle_ _– Marianne's daughter_

_Matthew and Alfred – Belle's young sons_

That said, enjoy!

**The Seafarer**

_**Chapter one:**_

_**A Long Story**_

"Uncle Francis, what's this?"

Francis cracked one of his eyes open to look at what one of his niece's sons was shoving into his face. He chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm and pushed the item in his hands further, so that he could see it properly. Age had left him with a foggy eyesight.

"This?" He took the item in his own, bony hands and smiled. "This is my old telescope, from my days at sea."

Matthew, Francis' niece's youngest son, a boy of eight, tilted his curl-framed head to the side, eyes narrowing questionably. "At sea? Were you a sailor when you were young?"

"He probably can't remember now." Alfred, his niece's eldest, elbowed his brother. "It must've been so long ago, he's _ancient_ now."

"Watch your mouth, young man, you can only hope to be as virile in your twenties as I am now!" Francis wiggled his finger threateningly, but truth be told, the children were right. Francis knew that his best days were long since over, lost in history. Now his hair, so blond and silky and wavy in the past, fell over his shoulders in white, thin strands. His neat stubble had grown into a long and white beard, his handsome face was covered in wrinkles. He didn't stand as tall any more as he once used to, and his eyes, once blue like the summer sky, were now pale like ice. But his mind was just as sharp as it had been all those years ago, when he had stood tall and proud on board of his Captain's pirate ship, and _he_ had stood by his side, emerald eyes shining in the sun and short hair ruffled in the wind, and they had been so _alive_.

"Mummy never told us you were a sailor," Matthew said and frowned. "Actually, she never told anything much about you."

That Francis was well aware of. There had been a time when he had been close with his younger sister Marianne, but that had been before he became a pirate. After that, they hadn't managed to meet one another for ten years, and then it had taken her almost as long to forgive him. Marianne had never told her children of her brother's past, so Alfred and Matthew's mother couldn't have told of it to her own boys, either. But now Belle had errands to run in another town, so she had been forced to leave her sons with their granduncle for a while. Francis was happy for that; it wasn't all that often that he got to spend time with his sister's grandchildren. Belle had never quite warmed up to her mother's long lost brother.

But now the boys were there with Francis, and in a very innocent and unsuspecting way that's so characteristic of children, they had roused the Frenchman's dearest and most treasured memories.

The old man leant forward in his comfortable armchair. "I will tell you a secret. Come closer." The boys were instantly drawn in by his secretive voice, even more so when Francis forbade them to tell any of it to their mother. "I was not a mere sailor in my young days," Francis whispered to them theatrically, enjoying the anticipation shining in the bright eyes of his kin. "I was – and remember boys, not a word of this to your mother – I was a pirate."

The reaction was immediate: Alfred burst into laughter and Matthew wrinkled his nose in disappointment. "I thought you were really going to tell us something," he said accusingly.

Francis was greatly offended by such a reception of his dramatic words. "As a matter of fact, I did tell you something. It's not my fault you're too young and silly to believe me."

"We are not too young!" Alfred instantly countered with all the conviction of a ten-year-old boy. "I'm almost a man grown!"

Francis snorted. "A grown man would recognise truth when he sees it."

"Everybody's grandfathers claim that they were pirates once, yet none of them really was," Alfred complained. "Why would we believe you?"

Francis smirked. "Fine. I have a little something that might help you believe. Go to my room, lads, and open the big oak shelf. You will find a small chest in there. Bring it here."

Curiosity easily overpowered suspicion, and the boys ran off to find the mysterious chest. Francis smiled, albeit a bit sadly. He knew that what he had in that chest would convince the boys, and somehow it felt good to finally tell somebody. Seeing the evidence, the boys would breathe on his words, they would remember them, and, come time, tell them forward to their own kids. That way Francis' name wouldn't die, but be associated with _him_ instead, like it should. Francis' was a story that no living man knew, save for himself, and he liked to believe that someone, somewhere, would know the story and forward it. It was what they deserved, Arthur and him.

"Found it!" Alfred's loud voice could be heard from afar, and the sound of running children came closer and closer.

"It's locked, uncle Francis!" Alfred shouted already from behind the door of the living-room.

"Is this the right chest?" Matthew asked as the boys stormed back in.

"The very one." Fondly, Francis took the chest and placed it on his lap. Then, winking at Alfred, he reached under his tunic to pull out a key hanging from his neck. Slowly, partly to make a show and partly because he was genuinely moved, Francis inserted the key into the lock and turned it. There was a soft _cl__i__ck_ as the lock was opened, and Francis lifted the lid. The two boys were instantly by his side, enthusiastically peeking inside. Francis let them look for a moment, then shooed them a bit further to sit on the rug on the floor before his chair.

"Is that a dagger, uncle?" Alfred asked with wide eyes.

"And a compass!" Matthew chimed in, excited.

"_Oui_, and much more." Francis took the compass out and handed it to the two boys. "Look at it."

Alfred and Matthew obeyed, but, as nothing magical happened, raised their questionable eyes at their great-uncle.

"No, _look_."

Matthew turned the compass over in his hands and then exclaimed softly. "There is something written here!"

"Exactly," Francis said, satisfied. "Can you read it?"

Both boys almost crossed their eyes trying to read the old and slightly worn letters. "A... A. K.? Are these somebody's initials?"

"That's precisely what they are."

"But they are not yours," Alfred pointed out rather smartly.

Francis smirked. "No. Does any name come to your mind with those initials?"

The boys thought for a while, and then Alfred's eyes suddenly widened. "A. K... _Arthur Kirkland_?"

Francis smiled from ear to ear. "Now _that's_ the one."

Both Alfred and Matthew ogled Francis like he had suddenly turned into gold. Marianne had kept Francis' past as a pirate in secret, so the younger generations didn't know about it, but there was one name that every man and woman, boy and girl, knew, and that name was Arthur Kirkland, the feared pirate Captain. Years had gone, but mothers still told their children to behave or the terrible Captain Kirkland would come and steal them from their beds.

"_Did you know Captain Kirkland?_"Alfred's eyes were huge, and Matthew simply stared at Francis in silent awe with his mouth hanging open.

Now _that_ was a reaction Francis had been waiting for. He leant back on his armchair and crossed his fingers on his lap. "I did. I knew him even before his name spread terror everywhere, even before he became a captain to begin with."

"Did you steal this from him?"

Francis chuckled. "No, there was no need to. He gave it to me himself."

"Gave? Why? Didn't he try to kill you?"

"No, he didn't! I told you, I knew him before he even was a captain, and we became... quite close, in fact."

"Were you _friends_ with him?" Matthew asked, full of respect and doubt at the same time. "Uncle Francis, were you friends with Captain Kirkland?"

"O_ui, _we were." Francis' eyes softened. "We were even more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story," Francis said languidly. _And one you will never __k__no__w__completely__,_ he added to himself with a small smile; some things were to remain between Arthur and himself only.

His words earned him the expected and desired effect. "_Tell uuuuuuuus!_"

And Francis did. He looked back to his most cherished memories, to his precious days of youth, and he saw everything as if it had happened yesterday. His eyes shone bright blue, like a summer sky, when he began re-living his secret past.

xXx

A fine day, it was. The ocean had been calm and wind advantageous, and Seafarer had sailed safely to the shore. It had been a long and tiring voyage, and Francis Bonnefoy enjoyed the sight of land... even if that land happened to be England. They would sail to Spain soon, but before that they needed to refill some necessary provisions, and this small, lone town had to do. They would get only the most urgent supplies from here, then move on to a real, big town for everything else.

"All right, _amigos_, I'll be taking four men with me," the authoritative voice of their Captain, Antonio, reached Francis' ears. "Gol and Berwald, you come with me. Feliciano, you come, too – you are better suited for small towns than Lovino. No, Bill, the word 'pirate' is written all over your face. Liz, you come with us, we'll look less suspicious if there's a woman among us."

Francis turned away from the landscape and leant his back against the board of the ship, meeting Antonio's eyes. The Spaniard gave a small nod to him, and Francis responded with a nod of his own to acknowledge the order; the ship was under his command until the return of the Captain. As much as Francis would have loved to set his feet on solid ground again, he knew that it had to wait.

"Good, leave her there while you're at it," Bill, a large man in his late thirties grumbled, glaring at the slender young woman dressed in men's attire beside their Captain. "Women aren't good luck in this business. One of these days she'll have us all shipwrecked."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Be quiet, Bill, or I'll put my dress on right here on board and sink the ship sooner that you'd expect."

Francis grinned. Elizaveta came originally from a country with no coastline, yet she had proved to be strong and gutsy, and just as ruthless as any of the men when needed. She had been sailing with them for over a year already, and the men had got used to her and even accepted her, but at times the deeply rooted superstitions surfaced anyway, particularly in bad mood. Liz, however, never let anyone walk over her. Francis liked her; he had never believed that a presence of a woman would bring ill luck to anyone, anywhere.

"We'll be back shortly. Try not to wreck my ship while I'm away," Antonio said and stepped in the boat that would take the four of them to the shore.

Francis leant over the board when the boat was lowered to the water. "Bring me something nice from town," he quipped. "You lost to me in cards last night, remember?"

His friend and Captain laughed and gave a small wave with his hand. "I'll see what I can do!"

Antonio did indeed prove to be a man of his word. It was no news for Francis, of course, but this time, really, his friend overdid it a little.

"Where's Francis?" the Captain chimed enthusiastically on the moment he set his foot on the deck again. "Francis, I've got your gift! Look!"

Francis looked.

The gift glared back at him.

"Er," Francis said, because as far as he knew, Antonio wasn't really into slave trade. Apparently, so wasn't the gift he brought, either.

"The fuck you mean by _gift_?" he snarled – because it was a he, a young man of perhaps Francis' age or even younger, with short, sandy mess of hair, strikingly green eyes – and almost as strikingly thick eyebrows.

"Now, watch your mouth when you're speaking to your Captain," Antonio warned him, but rather good-naturedly.

"_His_ Captain?" Lovino, a feisty brunet from Sicily, asked. "Don't tell us you've taken him in!"

Antonio grinned at him and turned to speak to all of them. "Everyone, this fellow here is Arthur and from this day on, he'll be one of us."

"That _boy_?" Bill laughed and gestured towards the small town. "Has he ever even been this far from home before?"

Some of the older men cackled, and Francis could see their new crew member gritting his teeth in suppressed anger.

"If you could still do your job properly, Bill, we wouldn't need anyone to replace your old and stiff bones." Elizaveta smiled at the scar-faced pirate, but anyone could see the steel behind her twinkling eyes. Bill bristled, but before he could come up with some nasty response, Antonio took the lead.

"I made my decision, and for your sake I hope you'll not question it." His voice was cheerful, but no one was fooled; despite his carefree, constantly cheerful appearance, Antonio was not to be trifled with if one valued their life. The Spaniard turned to give a friendly smile to Francis. "Francis, as I am true to my word, I'm leaving Arthur under your command. You'll be his big brother and it's your responsibility to make him feel at home here and teach him our ways. I'm sure you two will get along perfectly." He winked and laughed mirthfully at Francis' doubtful expression. "Be nice to him," he added and turned to the whole crew again. "Well, what are you ogling here? Set the sails! We're sailing to Spain at last!"

The crew members scattered around the ship immediately, each to attend their own duties, and Antonio withdrew into his cabin. That left Francis alone with Arthur.

They stood in the middle of the deck and stared at one another. Really, a funny trick from Antonio to set Francis up like that, but in all honesty, he had no idea of what to do with this Englishman. However, Arthur looked even more at loss than Francis, though he was visibly trying to appear confidently indifferent, and so Francis decided to get things moving.

"Well," he said. "As apparently you're mine for now, let big brother show you around."

This provoked a reaction. "Big brother my arse," the newbie snarled, rolling his eyes. "Why a _frog_, of all these people?"

Francis' brow twitched._Oh, so? _"Well," he purred, concealing his irritation with a smile. "Who else but a Frenchman would be more suitable for teaching you the little... tricks... for, hm, _pleasing_ our Captain?"

It was delightful to see how his words sunk into the English ruffian's mind. He froze and stared at Francis with wide, disbelieving eyes. "W-what?"

"What what?" Francis asked innocently, then feigned surprise. "_Oh..!_ Oh, surely you didn't think that you could just waltz in here and become a fearsome pirate, did you? Surely you must understand that naturally our Captain will want to know where, well, _your talents lie_."

Now that arrogant English face paled a little, and Francis, fully embracing his role, continued, "Why else do you think Antonio would have placed you _under me, _hm?"

The Englishman spluttered. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled, cheeks now entirely aflame. Francis suppressed a chuckle; it was enticing how quickly that thin face changed colour.

"Don't worry." He patted Arthur's shoulder, but the Englishman shrugged him off in disgust. Francis smirked. "Naturally, we will practise before presenting you to Antonio. You will find that I'm the best possible teacher. In fact," he lowered his voice, "I'm sure you will quite enjoy our... lessons."

"I'm not some bloody tavern whore!" Arthur hissed, staring at Francis with his wonderfully fiery green eyes. "If you think that I'll -"

"Arthur," Francis interrupted him, voice now serious, "Tell me, did you board this ship of your own free will?"

The Englishman crossed his arms. "Yes. To become a pirate, not a bloody fuck toy."

"Well, if you want to become a pirate, you must learn to obey the Captain. If that does not suit you, you are free to swim back home."

The Englishman's eyes briefly drifted back to the town, only to see that they had already sailed quite far from it. Francis saw his Adam's apple move up and down as Arthur swallowed hard, and wondered if he should call his bluff off. He was being a bit mean, but on the other hand, the little thug had deserved it by insulting him the first time he spoke.

"Have you made your decision?" Francis asked sweetly.

Arthur glared at him sullenly and said nothing.

"Wonderful," Francis chirped. "Then follow me. I will show you around and explain your daytime duties. In the evening... you'll learn something else."

"If you as much as touch me," Arthur hissed, the little beast, "I swear to the sea herself that I'll fucking _stab_ you."

Francis leant close, smiled lewdly, and whispered, "I look forward to it."

Luckily his time as a pirate had sharpened Francis' reflexes. Otherwise, he might have had to put up with a broken nose.

Francis managed to maintain his little game for surprisingly long a time. Arthur, he found, was still adorably naïve despite his sharp tongue and rough words, and for two days the Englishman waited all tense for Antonio to call him in his cabin. Well, of course Antonio would do so eventually, Francis knew that and exploited the fact, as the Captain wanted to have a private chat with the newest member of crew to make all things clear. But, Arthur needn't know that that's all it was – a chat. On the second evening, when Francis was instructing Arthur how to scrub the deck in the most efficient way, Antonio emerged from somewhere and asked, smiling, Arthur to join him in his cabin. It was all Francis could do to bite down his tongue and stifle his laughter when he saw how stiffly Arthur scrambled up on his feet and stood tense, waiting, biting his teeth together and staring straight into distance in defiant determination. Antonio gave Francis a curious look, but as the Frenchman merely shook his head behind Arthur's back, the Spaniard shrugged and nodded for the Englishman to follow. It was later that night when a flaming-red Arthur marched to Francis' hammock, flipped it over, and finally delivered the punch that he had been saving for just the Frenchman.

Even then, nursing his swollen eye, Francis regretted nothing.

X


End file.
